


Strawberry Kisses

by dovingbird



Category: Scott Pilgrim - All Media Types, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World (2010)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Kissing, hangovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:37:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dovingbird/pseuds/dovingbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ramona. The one spot of color in their drab lives sometimes, who brought her lovers quarrels into Canada and destroyed lives without even intending to. Not that Kim’s angry, of course. Why would she be angry that she’ll never get a chance to make out with Scott in the back of his car again? It’s dumb.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strawberry Kisses

It's late, probably around 4:30am, Kim thinks. She thinks rather than knows because somewhere between the fourth and fifth beer the numbers began to blur, kind of into one of those weird little modern clocks she sees at the museum in downtown Toronto, the ones that have little notches that look like Korean letters or something instead of numbers. She vaguely wonders when Scott had the time to be cultured enough to go to a museum between celebrating the seven murders he's committed and making up terrible Monkees cover arrangements that he forces on her.  
  
'Forces' is a strong word, she decides. She doesn't mind it. He gets this weird little gleam in his eyes when he plays what he thinks is a good bit, what really is about as appealing as a yowling cat in heat, and she's always liked weird, so maybe she likes the gleam more than she wants to admit. And his smile? She'd walk into traffic if she could guarantee she'd get enough amnesia to forget she ever liked his smile in the first place, but somehow it seems like one of those things that'll be popping up even when she's on her deathbed.  
  
Hell, with her luck, it's the last thing she'll ever see. And Scott will know, somehow, as he always does, and he'll rub it in her face the second both of them land in Heaven or Hell or Purgatory or wherever they're both gonna end up. After all, if he's a murderer, then she's an accomplice, and that's gotta be just as bad.  
  
She squints as she looks around the darkened basement, trying to pick out the forms of people she knows. There's Stephen Stills and Joseph, collapsed against each other in such a way that they'll have terrible cricks in their necks in the morning. Wallace and Mobile have somehow ended up surrounding Youn - no, wait, Neil, just Neil, that's right, there was an aside about that or something that she missed - surrounding Neil, and he's got this weird look on his face even in sleep, a look that says something like "Oh dear sweet Jesus they've finally come for me and what's more I'm actually not that worried about it." Knives is back for Christmas, and she brought her boyfriend as well, a slim boy from India that Kim's too hungover to remember the name of. The two of them look like they fell asleep mid-make-out, with Knives's hand still on the kid's butt. He's smiling in his sleep.  
  
She keeps scanning until she sees Scott, who's curled up by himself on the couch, and something about that is off. She wrinkles her eyebrows and cocks her head to the side, trying to figure it out, trying to understand why the sofa looks so colorless and bland. And then she realizes it's because Ramona is missing.  
  
Ramona. The one spot of color in their drab lives sometimes, who brought her lovers quarrels into Canada and destroyed lives without even intending to. Not that Kim's angry, of course. Why would she be angry that she'll never get a chance to make out with Scott in the back of his car again? It's dumb.  
  
There's movement by the window, and she blinks as she looks. There's a head of bright aqua hair watching the snow fall. It takes several seconds before said head of hair turns to look at Kim, for Kim to register that yes, that's Ramona all right, not just some poltergeist with weird hair or something, and then Ramona smiles and waves and Kim tries to feel angry, but she can't, because when it comes right down to it, even though Ramona owns Scott's pants now, she's probably better for him than anything else on the planet could be. So when Ramona pats the carpet beside her, Kim crawls over carefully, her head swimming.  
  
"Can't sleep?" Kim asks softly, and even that's enough to almost rip her head in half.  
  
Ramona shrugs as she looks back out the window. "The snow's pretty. I didn't wanna miss it."  
  
"Surprised you're not used to it by now."  
  
"I mean, I guess I am. I've seen a lot of it. But...it just reminded me of stuff."  
  
"Stuff," Kim says dully.  
  
Ramona smiles again. "Of the first time I almost got caught in a Canadian snowstorm. It was with that big lug-" She gestures over her shoulder to the snoring wildebeest on the couch. "-right before everything changed, and...I don't know. It was nice."  
  
Kim is a master of subtext, if she does say so herself, but God, her head's killing her, and that's why it takes her several long seconds to reply as she rubs her temple. "...are things...not nice now?"  
  
There's silence. Ramona's expression never changes. "They're different now."  
  
"...different."  
  
"Different." She nods.  
  
"Is different bad?"  
  
Ramona considers this. She nudges a lock of hair behind her ear, exposing a long strip of her neck. "Not _bad,_ really. Just...I..." She bites her bottom lip for a moment, and Kim assumes she's collecting her thoughts. "My whole life...has revolved around really sucky relationships. And getting out of them. And getting into them. And getting out of them all over again. And now I don't do that anymore. And it's weird. Because it was like a ten-year cycle almost and now it's over. And trying to get past that is..."  
  
"...different."  
  
"Exactly."  
  
Kim fingercombs her hair as she thinks. "Like, now you're with Scott, and he's different. And you don't know how to deal with it."  
  
She shrugs.  
  
"...maybe you don't know if you like it."  
  
Ramona looks at her, eyebrow quirked. "What? No, no, I like it. I like _him._ He's a good guy, even though he's dumb, and he's funny, and he...he actually _cares,_ you know?"  
  
She knows. She wraps her arms around her legs as she listens to Ramona, trying to ignore the red-tinted images bumping around in her sloshy brain.  
  
"He really tries to take care of me, which is cute because he barely knows how to take care of himself."  
  
Scott carefully supporting Kim's head as he lowered her down to lay on his back seat while they kissed.  
  
"And even though he has me, he hasn't stopped trying to impress me. It's always dumb stuff, but still, it's adorable."  
  
Him excitedly playing a new riff on his bass, looking desperately for some approval from her.  
  
"And when he...I mean...we're both girls, right, Kim?"  
  
She instinctively feels her muscles tense. "Totally."  
  
"Well, when he and I are having sex, it's just..."  
  
Warm. Perfect. Incandescent. Deifying.  
  
"It's great."  
  
She curls up a little tighter.  
  
"Especially when he kisses me. It's like he...he's trying to show me he's sorry for every bad ex I ever had."  
  
She lifts her eyes, watches Ramona's lips as they move.  
  
"Like he's trying to replace every kiss they gave me with one of his own."  
  
Watches every word that they shape instead of hearing them.  
  
"Like he's trying to wipe out every memory I have of them."  
  
Pictures Scott saying them instead.  
  
"And, it's funny, but when he does that, I really don't remember them at all. Is that funny?"  
  
She's moving before she can think.  
  
"I really don't remember a th-"  
  
She thought she'd sobered up, but maybe she hasn't, because she realizes suddenly that she's kissing Ramona, that Ramona's stopped talking, that there's only a few seconds of hesitation before Ramona's pushing back, feeding that kiss with a strange energy that Kim's never felt before. Kim lifts a hand and touches Ramona's hair. She expects it to feel scratchy and overdyed, but no, it's soft, smooth, and as she threads her fingers through it she wonders if Scott does this every single damn time he kisses her too.  
  
There's a little sigh, though she's not sure which of them gives it, as Kim slides her tongue forward, tastes the sweetness of Ramona's strawberry bubble gum that she so often chews that's tinted her entire mouth to that very flavor. Movement. More movement. There's a force pushing her forward until she has Ramona pressed up against the window and her hand braces itself against the cool, frosted window. Her other hand reaches out to her favorite spot to touch on Scott, right there against his heart, where she could feel it flutter every time she did something he liked, but there's a sharp gasp when she palms something else, a jagged thought shouting _Shit, SHIT, that's a TIT,_ and the sheer sensory shock of how it actually isn't so bad is enough to jolt her back, to fling her a foot or two away like she's touched a live wire.  
  
Ramona is illuminated by the streetlights against the ice-covered window, her powder blue sweater and her aqua hair exploding in contrast with her pale skin, but she doesn't move from where she's pressed. They catch their breath as they stare at each other for long seconds, the weird Korean museum clock ticking away the time, before Kim furrows her eyebrows and looks away.  
  
"...I've really gotta stop drinking around girls," she whispers, more to herself than anything. Then there's a snort, a quiet titter, and Kim meets Ramona's eyes just as Ramona presses a hand to her mouth to cover her giggling. There's only a second more before Kim's fallen flat on her face and giggling too.  
  
In her drunken hindsight, she can see why Scott picked Ramona. She's a damn good kisser.


End file.
